


Stakeout Fake Out

by Anonymous



Category: Veronica Mars (Movie 2014), Veronica Mars (TV), Veronica Mars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-06 01:25:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15875643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Veronica's work day goes longer than planned, so she invites Logan along for the ride. Smut ensues.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I think this needs work, but I'm barely making it in under the Smuttening wire...

Veronica slides into her RAV4 with a sigh of relief. It’s been a slog of a day. Too long of a day really. She’s been on the move since 5am when she and Logan had some half-conscious, nonsensical discussion about whether periwinkle should be considered blue and how their new dish detergent smells funny. 

Her mind drifts lovingly to the sleep hued memory. There’s just something about the mundaneness of their mornings. They way they lay side by side, gently lacing and re-lacing their fingers together, wrapped only in each other and white cotton sheets from the waist down. In hindsight, she’s always mystified by how they manage to extricate themselves from these moments. How she just doesn’t lash him to the mattress instead of letting him put on pants? Why she doesn’t bolt the door to world at large instead of handing him his car keys? Without fail, even on a good day, it always seems like a serious misstep. 

Veronica flicks open her phone to contact ‘favorites’ and pauses to smile at the tiny icon of a post-workout Logan half grinning, half grimacing as Pony’s expansive, bright pink tongue collides with his face. Pony has a propensity to treat Logan like a salt lick and Veronica more than understands the impulse. In fact, she suffers from the same proclivity herself— albeit with decidedly less innocent intentions. She’s actually eagerly looking forward to the privilege of exploring his sweet saltiness in the not so distant future. She imagines the pleasant little ‘Oh’ sound his mouth makes when she suckles those delectable, not-so-little veins that run down his groin with her own soft, pink tongue and feels the twinge of want pulse between her thighs.

She taps her chosen family’s faces with her thumb, enjoying the increased resolution of the expanded image before dropping the phone into her cupholder. The seemingly endless ringtone reverberates around her through the car stereo and she waits with undue anticipation.

She’s actually seen Logan a lot lately. Not just for dinner at dad’s and leisurely good morning kisses, but for long aimless strolls and proper dates with white table clothes. And plenty of non-dates too— like the grocery shopping which involved picking out the ‘Succulent Peach' dish soap they’ve since renamed ‘Rancid Papaya’ in a joint effort. They even talked for a good half hour earlier today while they took their lunch breaks, so it shouldn’t be as effecting as it is when she hears his voice, but there’s just something about the way he says, “Hey,” when he knows it’s her calling. Especially in luxurious surround sound. It burrows beneath her breastbone and fans out like a spark.

“Hey,” her own response is wispy and light, curling affection through the airwaves like tendrils of smoke. “The coroner’s proved fruitful so my culprit was hauled away in cuffs. Which left me plenty of time to rescue Aki Sumida’s shitzu from her mother-in-laws klepto claws before she became an expat. Guess who’s got a clear docket with twenty whole minutes of daylight to spare?”

“As luck would have it, this guy.”

“No kiddin’. _Well_ ,” she coos, “I mean if you just _happen_ to be around, I guess I could be so gracious as to gift you with my magnanimous presence.”

“It’d be my honor to doth my cap at your adorable feet,” he charms. “Pony and I just got in. Wanna go out? I could get fancy.”

She briefly contemplates how tempting his long, lean lines are in a pair of low-slung, flat-fronted slacks, but briskly nixes the idea with a definitive, “Nope.” An excursion in public would require a level of propriety she’s confident she doesn’t want to participate in right now.

“What ya thinkin’?”

“Netflix and chill your brains out.”

He snickers warmly, “And people say romance is dead.”

“Thai food?”

“Might as well keep the apartment smelling consistent. I’ll order.”

“See you in twenty,” she disconnects with a giddy smile. 

Five minutes later she reconnects with a frown.

“Hey.” His voice stirs with it’s same earlier warmth.

“Hey.” Hers does not.

He gives a dismal, “Ruh-roh,” in clear of assessment of the situation. “Dead in the water, huh?”

“Shot like fish in a barrel. I just got word from my cuckoldee that his cuckolder is on the move,” her voice is tired and unenthused. “I’m sad to say, but it looks to be an incriminating night." 

“It’s okay.”

“Yeah,” she sighs with obvious disappointment.

“Woulda been nice,” Logan acknowledges before leavening the mood. “I’ll just have to go for a run and get my affection quota met the G-rated way.”  

Veronica head falls back with a groan, “Ugh! That little hussy’s gonna steal all my snuggles!” 

Pony whimpers in the background as Logan tussles her ears, “Shh, Mommy didn’t mean it,” before readdressing Veronica. “Oh, I’m sure I could rustle up a few when you slink on home.”

“Could be late.”

“Wake me.”

“Wanna come with?”

Veronica hasn’t invited him to join in on a stakeout since she needed him to identify an eyewitness in high school, so he’s a bit incredulous. “Seriously?”

She was serious though. It was routine stakeout with no engagement required. Low stakes. Sure, Logan would be a distraction, but not one she didn’t think she could handle. She’s a grownup now, she rationalizes, not some hormonal teenager. Just getting to look, but not touch for a few hours sounded torturous, but delectable. And way better than no Logan at all. “I’ll pick you up in fifteen?”

“It’s a date.”

—————

When Veronica swings around their apartment building, Logan’s already sitting on the front stoop, brown paper bag filled with delivery in one hand, paperback book in the other. He’s freshly showered and in pajama pants, sporting slippers. So cozy and young, she just wants to curl up in his lap like a cat and take a nap.

As he settles into the car, she settles for a quick kiss and cradling her head in his hand for a beat. Then another. She can see the little speckles of moisture on his shirt; wet spots were it’s clinging to his post-shower skin. She glints over them with her nails. He smells so clean and crisp. Noticing a few stray water droplets clinging to his neck she dances through them with the pad of her index finger while exchanging pleasantries.

Without thinking, she draws her moistened digit towards her mouth to taste, but he captures her hand on it’s way to her awaiting tongue. “Drive before I drag you upstairs.” 

Veronica is pleased with this proposition. Her smile draws hard on the corners of her mouth, teeth gleaming with pride at his response to her. “Party pooper.”

He gives her an ‘Oh really?’ look while teasingly kissing then nipping her fingertips with blunt teeth before placing her hand her lap. “You’re the one with priorities. _Focus_.”  

The healthy bulge in his lap clearly illustrates he’s not wearing underwear and she worries her lip as she contemplates what a horrible and magnificent idea inviting him was. Her panties are already damp and she can’t remember where she’s supposed to be driving. She could kick him to curb right now, since they technically haven’t even started yet. But where would the fun be in that?

She drags herself away from his gaze to glance at her texts for a destination.

“Remind me again why I don’t just let you be my sugar daddy?” Her would-be joking tone sounds suspiciously breathy.

“Cause you calling me ‘daddy’ makes us both want to yack.” 

“Yick,” Veronica’s stomach lurches with a sneer, “not wrong there.” 

He bats his hand in the air dismissively, “Plus, I believe there there was some nonsensical hogwash spouted about being a contributing member towards the betterment of society.” 

She puts the car in drive and steers into the street with a roll of her eyes, “You’re one to talk, hotshot.”

—————

A few miles down the road, they pick up their mark, Candice De La Vega, at her office and follow her to Trattoria Domenico and its neighboring liquor store. While she procures what’s sure to be her dinner and romantic libations, Veronica’s given the perfect chance to tuck into the drunken noodles Logan ordered and not just scarf curry puffs between stop lights. He brought her a real fork to eat with, too, and it’s the kind of little thing that makes her preoccupied with wanting to nibble _his_ fingertips.

Unfortunately, Candice gets back on the road and Veronica is forced to get back to the task at hand. They follow her to The Paradiso, The Camelot’s latest competition for sleazy motel trysts at a bargain basement price. As luck would have it, Candice gets a roadside room. Veronica can hunker down inconspicuously in the tree obscured parking spots across the street with a perfect line of sight.  

She snaps a few establishing shots as Candice talks to the desk clerk and enters the second floor room. “Perfecto. I swear it’s like they want to line my pockets.”

“So, now we wait?” Logan asks.

“So now we wait.” Veronica keeps her eye on her mark, but puts out her hand expectantly, “Pad Thai, pretty please?”

“Definitely sexier in the movies,” Logan reiterates his teenaged sentiment about stakeouts with a chuckle, swapping cartons with her. “So what’s this lady’s deal anyway?” 

“Hedge fund manager. Married 12 years. Elementary aged kids; 6 and 9. Has been telling the little husband she’s been working late. He’s been suspicious and, as we can clearly see, has reason to be. Same old, same old, now with a feminist twist.” 

“Do you know who she’s rendezvousing with?”

“Not yet, but hopefully soon.” Veronica points her lens at Candice’s door, propping her camera up with her left hand and eating with her right. She’s perfectly poised to drop her fork and depress the shutter button if need be. “So, how was your day, dear?”

“Squig and Rachel had their baby.”

“Really?” Veronica whips around excitedly, toppling her camera and nearly upending the Pad Thai in her lap in one fell swoop. Thankfully, Logan has quick reflexes and lurches across the car console to save the food while she saves the electronics.

“Maybe I shouldn’t talk.”

“No, I got this. I’m a professional,” she teases as she starts to reposition herself, but then stops abruptly. “Just show me a picture of the tiny human and then I’m _all_ business.”

Logan smirks, swiping open his lock screen of Veronica cuddling next to Pony on the floor, mimicking her ‘rub my belly’ pose with gusto. He finds the pictures Squig sent him that afternoon. “Evelyn Gray. 6 pounds, 5 ounces. Everybody’s healthy.”

“Aw, she’s so cute! And right out of the gate.” She gives Logan a knowing glance, “Not always the case.”

“Nosiree, Bob,” he acknowledges in return. They’re both thinking of Squig and Rachel’s second child, Gus, born less than a year ago. He was more larva than baby the first few weeks. 

“Irish twins. My insides ache just thinking about it,” Veronica says before needing to capture another image of car entering the motel lot. Turns out it’s just someone turning around though and she gets conversational again. “What did you look like when you were born?”

The unexpected question throws him a bit. “I don’t know. Like any kid. A glowworm with big eyes.”

“I’ve never seen you that young. You’re mom always had all those pictures on display but the earliest I remember is that studio shot at a six months or so.”

“I was a little jaundice,” he answers shyly. 

“I bet you were super cute.”

Logan shrugs bashfully. “Not everyone can win a blue ribbon at the country fair right out the gate.”

“How did you—?” She nearly drops everything again, but catches herself, and glares at him.

“Miss Teeny Tiny Berry Bumpkin, 1987. Be still my beating heart.”

Veronica rolls her eyes dramatically. “Okay, you’re officially no longer allowed to converse with my father.”

“It took me 12 years to get permission. I’m not relinquishing my rights now.” She chucks a balled up napkin at his face and he gives a perfunctorily squidge of his nose as it bounces off, ignoring her. “You should always wear your fruit Carmen Miranda style and sans clothes. It suits you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“If you would, please.”

Veronica smirks, but them realizes she hasn’t been watching the motel and winces. 

“It’s okay, nothing happened.” 

She refocuses her attention. “Stop being so distracting.”

“Stop being distracted,” he rebuts.  

She launches another napkin at him blindly, “Anything else, sass pot?” It lands in his meal and he eats around it, unfazed.

“I have to work nights next Wednesday/Thursday and I told Dick I’d hang out with him tomorrow night.”

“Carrier training?” 

“Yeah.”

“…”

He strokes the base of her neck with his thumb. “I’ll be careful.”

“Countin’ on it.” She shifts in her seat. “I thought Dick was supposed to see his mom tomorrow.” 

“Yeah, he just does better if he has something to look forward to after.”

“Makes sense. Whatcha you guys gonna do?”

“Not sure. Last time I took him boxing and he loosened my filling. I’m thinking it’s not a repeat venue post mama-drama.”

“Seriously, Dick’s Dick, but who doesn’t see their kid for three years?” Before he can respond, Veronica shoves her dinner remains up on the dash, “Dammit, I think whoever she’s meeting was already in the room.”

“How can you tell?”

“Someone just got pressed against the window.” She refocuses her zoom, snapping some more photographs.

Logan leans forward to get a better view and sees two shadows pawing each other as they roll across the curtain. “Did anyone ever tell you that your job is kinda porny?” 

“Sadly, it’s rarely ever good porn.”

“You mean merging blurry silhouettes doesn’t do it for you?” He raises his voice an octave, “Alexa, cancel our tickets for the Erotic Shadowbox Theatre.”

Veronica smiles at his antics. “You have a Samsung.”

“That would explain the recent silent treatment. I just thought she was in a mood.” 

Veronica continues taking pictures until the adulterous couple retreats back into the room and the light fades. “Unfortunately, now we have to wait until they come out to I.D. adulterer numero duo. Husband wants faces.”

“Do you know what time they usually finish?” 

“Typically she meanders home around 2ish.”

“Guess we best settle in then.” He readjusts his seat a little. “I knew there was a reason I got ready for bed before I came.” 

Suddenly, she feels guilty having even asked him on this excursion. She conveniently forgot until this very moment that he has a review with his XO in the morning. “If it get’s too late, you can go.” She winces, “Do you want to go? We could get you an Uber.”

“Veronica.”

“Yeah?” 

“I’m where I wanna be.” She ducks her chin and he squeezes her hand, “What’re you up to tomorrow? You and Mac still planning on Wallace’s game?”

“We better be, because apparently our,” she air quotes with her free hand, “‘Super-Detecting She-Pack has become negligent in our Pirate Pride’. His pejorative, not mine.” 

“Them sounds like fighting words.”

“He’s a little pissy to be sure. Although, between you and me, I have blown him off 4 or 5 times in the past couple weeks. So I guess I _kinda, sorta, maybe_ deserve it,” she reasons, tilting her hand back and forth in questioning measurement.  

“I feel like I’ve seen you a bunch lately. Haven’t you had more free time than usual?”

She tilts her head and fiddles with a strand of her hair at its crown. “And I _chose_ to spend it predominantly elsewhere.”

“Ah.”

“ _Ah_.”  

“Hence the pissiness.”

“ _Hence the pissiness_.”

“Well, I’ve been happy as clam,” he tosses out. She attempts to shame him with a glower for condoning her bad-friend behavior with positive reinforcement, but fails to properly condemn him. She wears a barely suppressed grin, feeling guilty, but much the same as him. Logan shrugs, “Just saying.” 

—————

Four hours into the stakeout and Logan’s an hour into reading his book. More specifically he’s reading _her_ his book. His voice soft and warm and round around the vowels. Normally Veronica listens to music or a book on tape, but she’s decided this is a far superior option to letting a stranger invade her speakers. It’s a smoothing balm over the tribulations of the day.

She’s been staring at The Paradiso all night and wishing she was staring at him, but instead she’s been subjected to a steady stream of hookers and other adulterers, just not hers. She’s losing patience and considers again how nice it would be to curl up against him. Unfortunately, she can’t see the motel room unobscured from the passengers seat and she feels silly asking him to Chinese fire drill to the drivers side just so he can be her cushion. 

He turns a page and it turns her head. She stares at him and after a moment, he stares back. The silence between them a dare she’d like to take him up on.

Then the dark faintly shifts and his eyes flick right, he juts his chin. She's instantly alert, camera in hand, focused and sharp. Click, click, click.

Candice is finally emerging from the room, but hangs back for a kiss. Veronica recognizes the twenty-something year old who returns it as her personal assistant, Veruca Killjoy. The women part and Candice makes her way into the deserted night. Veronica rolls up her window, simple as that. 

“Money shot?” Logan wonders. 

Confident, she doesn’t need to check, she just nods.

“Does this mean we’re done for the night?” 

Veronica looks at him. Blinks. They’re not far from home, but she’s too tired of waiting. She shimmies out of her panties and climbs over the gear shift, squarely straddling his lap.

“No.”

Plunging her tongue into his mouth to align it with his, the sweet spice from dinner adds an extra zing to his already delectable kiss.

Logan responds in kind, hands grasping her naked hips under her dress, grinding them down against his. Her luxurious moisture already penetrating the cloth stretched over his delightfully hard cock. The ache inside her quickly feels cavernous; insufferable.  

She takes action, hiking herself up just enough to reach behind her thighs and tug at his impeding clothing. With his help, the pants make it to mid-thigh before she pushes him back against the seat and mercilessly slams him inside of her, simpering with a harried whine.

“God, baby,” he rasps, skimming his thumbs over her mounds, then dipping them down to trace where her lips envelope his base, eliciting a whimper.

She wants more.

Veronica presses her hand against his firm belly with a grunt. Exhaling purposely, she twists the hem of his shirt around her thumb before grasping the metal bar of the head rest behind his shoulder, exposing the sculpted planes of his abdomen to her hungry eyes. Her other hand reaches up to securely latch onto the handle above the window. Her movements begin slowly; alternatively lifting her body with the aid of her left arm, then pulling her body forward and down with the aid of her right, straining to find a clear rhythm. 

Assisting, Logan reaches down to depress the seat controls, shifting the reclining mechanism while she lifts her knees to her chest to plant her feet behind his ass. “Better?” he wonders.

Veronica only vacantly nods as the roll of her hips becomes easier, then pounding, then incessant and unexpectedly raw. The gravity of her body swinging from suspension adding controlled downward force like she’s never known. She closes her eyes, luxuriating in the glorious girth of Logan bluntly bottoming out inside her. His grunts keenly synching with her own, combining with their wet smacks to create a winning soundtrack.  

He sweeps the skirt of her dress back with one hand, exposing the glossy, pornographic sight of her sex devouring his. The hypnotic wave of her pelvic muscles sucking him in and milking him off with each crash landing is so pretty he sighs. Her name teetering on his ragged breath and she floods against him; a gush of slippery wet, drugging scent. 

Becoming unhinged, Logan surges more brutally against her. Feeling the tautness in his groin cinch tighter, he digs his short nails into the ripe flesh of her pert ass. His control is waning, but he staves off his own pleasure, focusing instead on the brutal tap and swirl tempo of his thumb against her clit. The succulent sound of her keening his name.

Veronica's eyes flutter open to watch him watch her, licking his lips in an gesture of mindless want. She imagines that wanting mouth latching on to her tits and arcs achingly toward him, vice gripping her inner muscles around his shaft. “God, you feel so—“ It feels like she’s fucking steel, he’s so unbelievably hard. She loves that she can make him feel like this. That he wants her this much. That he can make her want him this much.

Their eyes meet and suddenly her sexual satisfaction gives way to potent emotion. She’s overcome with desperate, needy affection for him. She loves Logan, more than she’s ever loved anyone. And he’s hers. And he’s buried inside her and her chest feels tight and hot and delicate. The sublime tug of her womb escalates. Overwhelmed, she can barely delay gratification.

Her head starts to swim and her limbs begin shaking so she switches trajectories, pressing close, riding him shallow and hard with rollicking insistence towards impending orgasm. With one brutal flick of his nail, she’s coming, spasming between his palms like an electrified wire while he pumps into her desperately, his own erratic release following quickly behind. Pleasure strangles their vocal cords and deadens their ears, silencing the already quiet night.

As the thrumming of her body begins to subside, Veronica loses strength and descends backward, using Logan’s thighs as a recliner while her head meets the dash, his soft cock still twitching inside her. She folds one heavy hand over her womb, followed by the other, whispering, “So good,” with a contented sigh.

“ _You are_.” Logan stokes her languidly, still breathing heavily as he grunts, “You could raze the known universe with that show.”

“I appreciate the endorsement,” she laces her fingers through his, “but this here’s a private engagement.”

Wanting to taste him again, she tugs on his fingers and he takes the cue, hauling her limp form up to meet him. “Thank goodness for tinted windows,” he murmurs before her lips meet his, tangling in a properly indecent kiss.

“They’re not that tinted,” she admits, fisting his shirt over his heart while drawing a smiley face in the condensation on the window. Their wetness a lush, sticky mess between them under her dress; a glaring reminder of their exhibitionism. “The things you get me to do.”

He’s cradling her head again while she nibbles the thumb now dancing across her lips. “You know I’m a bad influence.” 

“The worst,” she kisses him again with a smile before plunking a pile of takeout napkins on his chest.

As they’re straightening up, Veronica rises up with a groan, tucking her feet under her tired thighs to get more comfortably situated. “Roomy interior, my ass.” It’s then she sees the vague outline of a sheriff’s cruiser pulled in behind them. Hears the district slam of a car door penetrate the night. “Crap!” 

She launches her self into the driver’s seat, tossing evidence of their tryst into the back seat as a dark figure sidles up to the car, wrapping out a knock. A beam of light pierces the glass.

“Be cool,” Veronica directs. 

“Always,” Logan retorts.

She powers down the foggy window with a breeziness that Logan studies with amusement as Norris Clayton’s face emerges from the shadows. “Veronica Mars,” he says pleasantly surprised. “And what are we up to tonight?”

“Oh you know, Deputy, just doing what I do.” She hoists her reclaimed camera aloft winningly. 

He leans down to better take her in, illuminating the dark with his flashlight, and catches sight of Logan in the passenger seat. “New partner?”

“Hardly. You remember Logan.”

Norris takes a clarifying glance, then nods with poorly disguised disapproval. He tries to cover with a weak laugh, “Guess you really haven’t changed much since high school.”

“I’m better at multitasking,” she cuts sarcastically.

Logan stifles a cough and she can feel his warm mirth roll up and over her like a tide. Norris glances from her flushed face to Logan’s. Logan’s seat is still just a little too reclined, their clothes too clearly rumpled, and Norris’ mortification sets in as he recognizes the smell wafting so fragrantly in his direction is more than just the takeout littering the dash. “Well I, ah— hope you— had, you know— good luck.” 

“Definitely got lucky.”

“Well, that’s— you know— that’s _great_. That’s great. I’m just gonna—,” he stutters, retreating hastily amongst wishes of a goodnight.

“Friend of yours?” Logan muses.

“We went to high school together.”

“I gathered.”

“He used to have a crush on me.” 

Logan’s fingers unfurl towards Veronica and she slips her right hand into his, still sticky sweet with her. “Who didn’t.”

“He wooed me with ninja stars.”

Logan dips his head and gets shy in that way he always used to. In that way she hasn’t seen in a while. It curls her toes. “All the hallmarks of a bad boy looking to make good. Sounds right up your alley.”

“One might think. But alas, you trounced his efforts mere hours before. Down yonder.” He glances up at her with raised brows to see her pointing to The Camelot down the street. “He never stood a chance.” 

Logan’s dopey, lovestruck face is so sweet. It matches hers to a T.

She has this urge to tell him she used to doodle his name in her margins, and sometimes still does, but settles for, “Come on flyboy. Let's get you to bed.” She can sleep in tomorrow, but he’s facing another early day.

—————

He's sleepy and rides with his eyes closed on their way home, but murmurs, “I’ve come to a new conclusion,” all the same.

“Enlighten me.”

“Stakeouts definitely aren't sexier in the movies.”

She smirks and casts him a lingering sidelong glance, the sore tug between her legs already returning. "Not with you around."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is too porny to take credit for, just like last year, but if you'd like to read that Smut-a-thon entry too, it's called '[Aesthetically Pleasing](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11668062)'.  
> I hope you enjoyed. Any and all feedback would be cherished. xx


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a little blurb that I wrote at at the end of the story, but it seemed tonally out of place. I still really liked it though, so here you go...

Three days later, Veronica wakes to a little pink envelope stamped Neptune General placed on Logan's pillow. Inside is a 2" x 3" photo of infant Logan, nestled into his mother’s proud arms, nose to nose. A little sallow, but so sweet and adorably him. Just miniaturized. She tears up with overwhelming affection. 

—————

Three days after that, Logan wakes to find a closed double frame with a green bow on their tall dresser. He gives Veronica's sleeping form a sly glance before carefully opening it. Inside, he finds his photo re-gifted and paired with an image of her in her father’s proud arms; blue ribbon attached to her chest while wearing a pint worth of ripe fruit on her head and the grimace of a confused, feral creature. There’s a small note:

_The ribbon should have been yours._ ♡

He smiles shyly, putting the frame on display beneath their lamp. Returning to bed, he kisses Veronica sweetly, cocooning against her under the soft, white sheets.

“Mm, no run?” she murmurs, nuzzling into him.

“More you.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is too porny to take credit for, just like last year, but if you'd like to read that Smut-a-thon entry too, it's called '[Aesthetically Pleasing](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11668062)'.  
> I hope you enjoyed. Favorite snark? Weird grammar? Any and all feedback would be cherished. xx


End file.
